Really. What happened is that our stuff (most of it) arrived and I’ve been busy unpacking and sorting and putting away. Which means France has been looking pretty much like our old place, except that we’re taking things out of boxes instead of putting things into boxes. But, on to something topical.
It’s the holidays in France, and it’s looking a lot like Christmas. In fact, the word Christmas comes up surprisingly often, considering that here the occasion is known as NOEL. As in Joyeaux Noel et bonne année. To top it off, I found a display of Reeses’ Peanut Butter Cup Xmas Trees, the real thing, made in the US of A, in a store that’s a little hard to describe. It carries things like a Big Lots, sort of. Anyway, we also bought some decor there, and the Xmas trees were delicious as always.
France is different, no doubt about it. “Bacon” means cured meat, probably pork porc, which includes smoked pork belly poitrine fumée which, when I have the butcher slice it thin, turns out to be what an American would call bacon. Mmmmmm! Bacon! Homer could maybe survive here. Food differences certainly exist. At a restaurant you have to call for service. Nobody comes around to interrupt your meal and ask if everything is okay. If everything isn’t okay, any French person would complain to their server, so “okay” may be assumed. Also, servers do not live on tips. You can put a Euro or two on the table if you really liked the service, but it’s neither required, nor even expected. It’s just a bonus, and a lot of servers deserve it. But they can live on their salary, and service at a restaurant is considered an honorable profession. How’s that for a difference? On the other hand, while brands may differ, and you need to know what to ask the butcher to do if you want, say, a strip steak, you can generally get the ingredients to make whatever you want to make, including Mexican style food with actual spice in it. (The French don’t believe in spicy food, but prefer delicately prepared, subtly flavored fare.)
In other food news, France consumes more pizza per capita than any country other than the US. They have McDonalds (even in Tahiti, I recently learned.) There is a KFC near Angouleme. It’s different, but it’s not that different. Myself, I make diner style eggs, hash browns, toast, and bacon on Sunday mornings. It isn’t difficult, and I really like that stuff. So, even though it’s different here, I still get to eat my favorite foods, and drink my favorite drinks, and, this may be sad, as my wife pointed out recently, they’re “becoming more like the United States all the time.”
Hmmm. Hopefully not in terms of political discourse. Until next time, Au revoir!